


babe, you look so cool

by LorenIndra



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 23:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30080082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LorenIndra/pseuds/LorenIndra
Summary: The only thing Rhys needs to finally retire is one last heist.It does not even have to be a grandiose one.Jack has other plans.AU inspired by the story of Bonnie & Clyde.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	babe, you look so cool

**Author's Note:**

> This is a wip, so anything (everything) may change as the story progresses. It includes rating!

Another shitty place on Pandora, full of scumbags, bandits and straight up child murderers. Surprisingly, Rhys feels at home, when he manoeuvres between tables, occupied by, undoubtedly, people of his league and sits by the bar. He waves at bartender.

“Whatcha drinkin’?” a man with absolutely atrocious moustaches – Rhys shivers from thinking someone would even consider having something like that on their face – asks in a husky voice.

Bartenders are a lot like psychologists. They may fix all your problems eventually, but explaining yourself to a new one is always a pain in the ass.

“Promethean Single Malt, cinnamon syrup, honey syrup, cream, mint, cinnamon bark powder, ice and a very small maraschino on the edge. Thanks.” Rhys raises his eyes on the bartender; poor bastard is completely taken aback.

“I have whiskey and beer,” he grumbles.

Rhys sighs. Tough crowd.

“I’ll take both. How about mint?”

“I have some dill at my place upstairs.” The bartender shrugs.

 _Some dill_. Just wonderful. Well, beggars can’t be choosers – and it’s not like Rhys even has something to choose from. It’s the only place in this town when they serve alcohol. Or, well, serve anything at all, for that matter.

And Rhys seriously needs a drink right now.

“What are you waiting for, then? Don’t forget about ice.”

Rhys’ life has never been easy, so he survived worse things than a bad service; although, not _much_ worse.

He is tired of that, of course; of living on the run, without having a single place he can call home; of shitty planets, like that one or Elpis, which he travelled far and wide for the last five years; of the lack of money, although his endeavours have almost always paid up.

But Rhys is saving for something bigger, has been for a while now. He is rather old for his line of work; not many people who sleep with a knife survive for that long. And people who manage to anger so many powerful bitches live even less – but Rhys has always been the best at hiding.

All he needs is one last heist. And then, no more hiding. He will disappear completely, move to some sunny planet, buy a small house with a big bed on the beach; and, most importantly, he won’t have to think about job. At least, for a while, until he is bored of doing nothing. He loves what he does. Stealing what belongs to other is very addictive. But even the best professionals who are as in love with their work as Rhys is require a break once in a while.

 _One last heist_. Rhys chuckles. After all those years, it sounds ridiculous.

There is already a job on his mind. Rhys has heard that Wainwright Jacobs is going to get married in two months; which means, the Jacobs Manor will be less secure for as long as the celebration goes on. The Jacobs family should have a lot of shiny things to share; although, going alone is still rather dangerous. They are weapon manufacturers, after all.

But Rhys has handled worse on his own.

“Here. Whiskey, beer, dill.” The bartender puts a shot with a brown liquid, a dusty green bottle and a single sprig, that has already started to whither, one by one on the counter, rather dramatically. “Which glass?”

“A highball.” The bartender glances at him. “The tallest one.”

The tallest one happens to be rocks. Rhys must have done something very wrong in his life to deserve this. Something terribly wrong, because the bartender takes three cubes of ice in his hairy, meaty hand and puts them in the glass.

“Thanks,” Rhys mutters anyway.

“Welcome, princess.” The man gives him a plastic straw, bowing mockingly, and quickly recedes from the view, probably afraid that Rhys will ask for something else.

Rhys smells the liquid in the shot and winces. It is this sort of whiskey one orders after seven other cocktails, already too drunk to tell if it’s decent; an oily scent hits him and, because he does not want this wonderful aroma anywhere near him any longer, Rhys hastily pours whiskey in the rocks. Then, he adds beer and, after cutting the dill with his nails into small pieces, swipes it into the glass.

He mixes the substance with a straw and, titling his head backwards, drinks with his eyes closed.

There are many bad things in this world; some of them are so awful Rhys won’t wish them upon his worst enemies. Diseases, wars, sudden runs into exes. But nothing can be compared to this abomination of a drink. If despair had a taste, it would be much more pleasant.

Rhys coughs violently and puts the glass aside.

He likes this place, nevertheless. His chest tightens from sweet nostalgia. Rhys is quite used to such _fine_ establishments. Many of his happiest memories are connected to shitholes like this one. Besides, everything has a bright side.

For example, no one has tried to kill him in this bar.

 _Yet_.

“Waiting for someone?” A middle-aged man sits next to him and Rhys automatically rolls his eyes. Killing is fine, but Rhys can’t stand being hit on. It’s pathetic, miserable – and just a little sad. And, judging by the man predatory smirk, it is exactly what happens now.

Although, maybe this man _is_ going to kill him; Rhys scrutinizes him intently – and he has to admit, people who wanted him dead in the past were more creative with their choice of assassins.

Creative does not mean efficient.

They hired a siren once. Rhys still regrets he has not had a chance to meet her, but anonymity first. It is something he values almost as much as money.

Rhys is yet to trick the last one who is coming after him, making them run around in circles, while he will be already far away. He has heard it’s a robot. Hilarious.

Also, cool. A little flattering, too.

The man before him, however, looks exactly how Rhys imagines a CEO of some corporation. Boring.

Okay, maybe not _that_ boring. Something is seriously wrong with his face. It is unnatural, made to look like it is natural. Creepy. And he has very captivating eyes.

But even the most captivating eyes in the galaxy can no longer deceive Rhys.

And it’s not enough to make the man interesting.

“Yeah. For peace and quiet,” Rhys finally says, very politely.

“Rude. What are you having? Can I get you another one?” The man gestures to the bartender, but Rhys catches his wrist and pins it to the counter.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hisses threateningly.

“Gatcha. You know, there is plenty of good stuff at my place.” The man winks.

“Nah, find yourself someone else to suck you off in the alley.” Less politely, but it makes a point.

“Who told you I’m here for that?” The man raises his eyebrows in a fake surprise.

“Your hand on my thigh.” The man’s hand is, indeed, there, lying innocently - as if unnoticed - yet dangerously close to Rhys crotch. Against his better judgements, Rhys does not throw it off.

The man chuckles.

“What’s your name?”

“John.” It’s the first thing that comes to Rhys’ mind. He knows he should leave, but there is no guarantee that the man won’t follow him outside.

“You are not a very good liar, kiddo.” Bullshit; he is a very good liar, he is just not trying hard enough. “Such a handsome man can’t have such a dull name.”

“Oh. Are you speaking from experience? Is your name also John?”

“It’s Jack.” The man whose name definitely is not John reaches out with his free hand, but Rhys only stares at it, unblinkingly.

“Well, nice to meet you, _Jack_. Now, be a dear and fuck off.”

“You have some balls, kiddo. I like that.”

Well, Rhys does not like anything about this situation.

“What do you want, then, Jack, if you are not looking for a quick fuck?” Rhys decides to play along. Men like Jack don’t usually last long.

“Ever heard of Vault Intergalactic Bank?”

Yeah, not this again. There is one type of people Rhys hate the most; white collars who come to Pandora for safaris or some equally weird shit. They are running for the things Rhys has been trying to run away from his whole life; like death, for example.

And, besides, they always behave in a certain way; like they deserve some special treatment. Like they own lives of other people.

“Let me guess, you are its extremely valuable employee? Nothing works there without you? You are your boss favourite pet?”

Jack smirks.

“Almost. Have your ever thought about robbing that place?”

Rhys freezes. This is oddly specific thing to say – which makes it extremely suspicious. He has, of course, thought about robbing it, more than once. But people who run that bank would not send an assassin for a fantasy.

Right?

Rhys leans back slightly, subtly, searching the room with his eyes for covers and additional entrances. No luck; Jack blocks the path to the only door. He will react before Rhys even think of escaping.

He suddenly wants to finish his drink; it will kill him before Jack has a chance.

Maybe he can still talk his way out. Well, he is ready to even fuck his way out, if that’s what Jack is into.

“Sure. In my dreams,” Rhys says, trying to keep his voice even.

“What if I told you it’s possible?”

“I would say you are bold. And a madman. It is the most secured place in the whole galaxy. No one can pull off something like this alone.”

And no one has ever tried. Two reasons for that. Their guards are second to none, all with military pasts – and not just simple soldiers. But even its people, turrets, lasers and loaders together pale before the second reason. Its building is in space. Nowhere to hide, to run if something goes wrong; and it, undoubtedly, will.

But even if not, it is impossible to get out of there unnoticed, anyway.

“That’s why I’m here. Heard you’re good.”

So, it’s not about killing, then. And not about sex. It’s a job offer – and it’s worse, because Rhys does not discuss work with people he does not know.

Jack really should not, too.

“And you are?..”

“I am the best.”

 _Sure_. If Rhys had a dollar for every time someone said it, he would not have to steal to make a living.

“The best is the enemy of the good.”

“Didn’t take you for a philosopher.”

“It means _no_. I don’t work with people I don’t trust.” And Jack has a very untrustworthy smile.

“Like you trusted Yvette?”

 _Ouch_. Rhys winces. That’s a total low-blow, because he did and then the bitch betrayed him. But also, there are only two people in the whole world who know about that – and one of them is dead.

“Where did you hear that name?”

“Told you, I am the best.”

Or just another arrogant bastard that won’t make it until tomorrow. You either keep your mouth shut about business near strangers or you die. And Jack so recklessly decided to speak about that with Rhys. In some shady bar, where everyone can hear them. Not smart at all; makes it easier not to consider his offer.

“And I told you, no.”

“Really gonna miss such an opportunity?”

“The only thing I am going to miss is a rather unimaginative way to die.”

Jack taps on the counter with his finger impatiently.

“It’s your final answer?”

“Yes.” Rhys stands up, making Jack’s hand slide down. “Try not to get killed, though. There are not many best left,” Rhys whispers in Jack’s ear, touching his shoulder.

Rhys realizes he did not pay only when he steps outside. Well, Jack offered to buy him a drink, after all. It does not matter, anyway. He is not going to return to that place; it’s not in his habit, to stay in one city for too long and now, when Jack has even the slightest idea who he is, it is straight up dangerous. It’s dangerous even to stay on Pandora; Rhys has tried so hard not to be known, but it took one man to ruin the years of hard work.

It always does.

Rhys shivers from the cold and starts walking faster down the dark street.

One last heist and he will be gone from this place for good.

The only problem is to get to Eden-6.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the work is from Robbers by 1975
> 
> If you are as fond of cocktails as i am, you will be delighted to know that the drink Rhys orders totally exists and is called Milk & Honey. It's sweet, it's tasty and it looks beautiful. HOWEVER, that abomination Rhys makes instead IS ALSO A REAL COCKTAIL. Kinda. Not really. I might have totally made it up. Or not. Idk google it in English or your native language and see if it's accurate (it was in mine). It's called julep with whiskey and beer and it also requires mint. Don't add any dill there, seriously. Actually, don't try that at home at all (with or without dill), unless you are immortal. I tried it for you, though, and i don't want to live anymore. If you want something with dill, take some vodka, sparkling water and a cucumber syrup.


End file.
